


For Whom The Bell Tolls

by sleepylotus



Series: Her Match [2]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest (2006)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-06-07 20:57:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6823846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepylotus/pseuds/sleepylotus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Her Match, DMC AU. Jack and Lizzy have been married roughly a year, when he leaves her behind in Nassau with naught but a note that says “Be back soon.” Furious, Elizabeth sets out to find her wayward husband and the Pearl. Rumor of a man named Lord Cutler Beckett has come to the Caribbean, and it seems the bell tolls for all those who call themselves pirate. Elizabeth is certain it has something to do with Jack’s disappearance, but what? COMPLETE!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Home Sweet Home

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Firstly, apologies to Hemingway for the title, though I think he stole it from John Donne. :P
> 
> Events of DMC, through the lens of the aftermath of my fic Her Match. You don’t really have to read it to get what’s going on, just know that after COTBP, Jack asks Lizzy to haul away with him, and she does. ;) I seem to have written plenty about Jack and Lizzy getting to the altar, but haven’t done much examining of life after “I do.” And as any of us who are married truly know, that’s when the real adventure begins! :) I also blame a certain post by @sparrabeth , of Lizzy giving Jack the “Did you give the children rum?” look. LOL. Definitely a married couple look, and definitely greased the wheels of my imagination, for sure!!
> 
> Aaaand ok I know I have hanging fics and I will get back to them soon I swear!!!! ::ducks thrown bottles::

 

# Chapter 1: Home Sweet Home

 

_Ah, Tortuga. Nowhere like home._

Roughly a year had passed since Elizabeth first began calling herself _pirate,_ and already the raucous den of sin, the buccaneer stronghold of Turtle Island, felt more like her natural habitat than a drawing room in Port Royal _ever_ had.

Roughly a year had passed since Elizabeth also began calling herself _Sparrow,_ after a certain legend of a pirate captain stole into her bedroom one night, and dared propose that she haul away with him.

She had not regretted the decision to marry him _once_ since.

 _She_ didn’t regret it, but _he_ might, she thought acerbically, _once she finally caught up with that infuriating man-child of a pirate, the silly selfish git._

A month ago she’d awoken to the noon sun shining through their window in Nassau, a horrendous headache assaulting her skull. Jack had been nowhere in sight, the bed beside her cold. She’d stumbled to the basin for a glass of water, where she found a note in his surprisingly elegant hand. It had read:

 

_Lizzy Darlin,_

_Be back soon._

_-Jack_

 

Confused and alarmed, she’d puzzled over the note , holding the cold glass of water to her aching head. It had not taken long for her to decide she needed a real drink, and she went to the sideboard to facilitate the urge. There she found a small bottle next to the rum they’d nursed the evening before. She sniffed its contents, finding the liquid sickly sweet.

 _Opium,_ she realized.

Jack had _drugged_ her?

What the devil was going on?

A dark dread blooming in her chest, she’d run to the widow, looking to the harbor.

The Black Pearl was gone.

_He’d left her behind._

Tears stinging her eyes, Lizzy had slid down the wall, her legs suddenly of no use in her shock. Her mind ran in circles, and with a snarl she fought to harness them, to make some _sense_ of this unthinkable scene. What had happened last night? They’d just made port with a considerable take from the season’s pillaging. There had been Drinking, of course. Re-connection with old friends. A bit of dancing. She _might_ have kissed Anne Bonny somewhere along the course of the evening, but neither Jack Rackham or Jack Sparrow had seemed to mind.

Jack had seemed pre-occupied about his hand, she remembered. He’d wrapped a cloth around it, claiming to have cut it, but wouldn’t let her see. He’d kept peeking at it, then quickly covering it again.

Later they’d procured the room, and he’d made love to her with an ardor that was impressive even for Jack.

Three times.

Even now the memory of his clever coaxing kisses curled her toes, the thought of his caresses made her moist between her legs all over again.

After they’d finished he’d gone to the sideboard for a drink, and brought her one in bed.

 _Jack_ she’d whimpered to herself. _How could you leave me?_

She’d gone down stairs to find Anne and Jack Rackham, also nursing their heads and poking at pewter trenchers of eggs and fatback. Quietly she’d asked them if they knew where her Jack had gone. Bewildered, they’d shaken their heads no. Not much later Beatrice, the proprietor of the tavern, had come to sit by Lizzy and told her in her lilting creole tones that Jack had paid for the room upstairs for three months, and had instructed her to see to anything Elizabeth might need.

Bewildered, she’d thanked her friends, and hit the streets. Nassau was not a place an unaccompanied woman should usually traipse about, but with her sword at her side, a gully knife in her boot, and a sharp look in her eyes that could rival the keenest blade, Elizabeth did not fear. She went to the docks to conduct further questioning, but no one was privy to the Pearl’s schedule.

For a while she’d languored in Nassau, filling her days with a bit too much rum and memories of the past year with Jack. She thought of how excited and afraid she’d been, when first she set foot upon the decks of the Pearl that fateful first night. Jack had taken her to his cabin, where she half expected him to ravish her right then and there. But he’d simply kissed her on the cheek, bade her to rest, and left to see to getting the Pearl underway from Port Royal as hastily as possible. Perhaps he’d thought she might balk, and demand they turn the ship around, and he’d thought it best to be able to return her unscathed. Later that night he’d slipped into bed behind her, draping an arm about her waist with almost reverent care, as though he couldn’t believe she was really in his bed. She’d scooted back into the long curve of his body, intoxicated by his scent and his warmth and the way they seemed to fit so _perfectly_ together.

Little did she know.

They were wed the next day, and _that_ night Jack took her with such gentle urgency, initiated her into the sacred rites of the marital bed with a tenderness she never would have dreamed possible for a pirate.

_But I’m Captain Jack Sparrow, love._

She could just _hear_ him in her head, anywhere she went.

Even in his absence, Jack would get his two pence in.

And after that first night? _Well_. There was a reason the doxies of Tortuga all fluttered their fans when Jack Sparrow sauntered by, hopeful that he’d turn their way. _No one_ had a mouth like Jack Sparrow, or dexterous artist’s hands, or… Lizzy was a married woman, and the thought of the torrid lovemaking she shared with her husband _still_ inspired a hot flush to bloom all over her body. He showed her such _maddening_ passion, such pleasure that some nights she thought she might _die_ from it.

It seemed every day and every night held a new adventure with Jack.

A new game to win.

A new puzzle to solve.

A new treasure to discover.

Sometimes he treated her as though she was made of glass.

In the beginning it seemed like his every other sentence began with the apology of _I know it’s not what you’re used to,_ until she’d kissed him firmly on the mouth and assured him that _everything_ he gave her was _perfect._

And then sometimes, he was _so_ hard on her.

She recalled an afternoon in which she’d joined the men in practicing fencing. She’d entered a bout with Jack, enjoying their game, until she made a bad turn and gave him her back. He was on her like a wolf, smacking her backside with the flat of his sword so hard she knew she would have a bruise. “Appreciate the gesture, love, but were I an enemy I hope you wouldn’t hand out your arse so freely.” The crew had howled, and she’d wished the deck would open up and swallow her, her cheeks ablaze with embarrassment. Afterwards she’d retreated to a dark corner of the hold to cry, the only place on the ship she could find to be alone with her shame and her anger.

An hour later Jack came to find her, a peace offering of a rum bottle clasped in hand. “Sorry love,” he’d apologized, sliding down to sit beside her. He offered her the bottle, and begrudgingly she took a drink, resisting the urge to rub her smarting back side.

“I know I made a mistake but you didn’t have to be so mean about it,” she’d grumbled, unable to meet his eyes.

“Ye scared me,” was the excuse he offered, and he took an excessively long pull on the rum.

“ _I_ scared _you_?” she’d asked incredulously.

“Aye, ye scared me, because I’ve seen stronger, more experienced men die in horrible ways for making less of a mistake than that, darlin’. The thought of something terrible befalling you… _terrifies_ me. Perhaps—”

She’d pounced upon him before he could dare say that maybe he’d made a mistake bringing her out onto a pirate ship, and took him with an almost _violent_ passion against a barrel of salt-pork. “ _No regrets, Jack_. _Say it,_ ” she’d demanded, her mouth hot against his, holding his release hostage until he ceded with an oath.

_No regrets, love._

She never made that same mistake again in a fight. She trained harder. Became meaner. Kept a sharp eye upon the horizon, _always._

Had it not been enough?

Then the other possibility began to creep in. The last dark frontier she’d not allowed herself to consider until that moment.

Had Jack grown _tired_ of her? Had the novelty of wedding and bedding the Governor’s daughter worn off?

Was she no longer a coveted treasure just out of his reach, but simply another notch in Jack Sparrow’s long scarred bedpost?

It couldn’t be true, she told herself, praying she was right. How could a man who sometimes slept nearly _on top_ of her, wrapped her up _so tight_ in his arms in his sleep, as though afraid she might slip away in the night, _leave_ _her_?

Uncertain of everything she thought she knew, Elizabeth had waited.

Soon, gossip of a new power come to the Caribbean made its way to Tortuga. A certain Lord Cutler Beckett had arrived from England, charged with bringing order to the unruly backwater that was Jamaica. Pirates’ days were numbered in the Caribbean, so the rumors whispered. Unlike her peers, Elizabeth received this news with relief. It was her first ray of hope in what felt like an eternity in hell.

When Beckett’s minion came for her, she was more than ready. He approached her like she was still a young English debutante, not a legendary pirate’s bride, informing her with firm civility that Lord Beckett would like a word. She politely shoved a pistol up his nose and related that she would like a word as well. With the help of Jack Rackham and Anne Bonny, the pirates put Beckett’s agent to the question. It did not take much persuasion, only the removal of a single fingernail, to learn that Beckett sought Jack Sparrow and his special compass at all costs. He had arrested the blacksmith William Turner on charge of piracy, and tasked him to find Jack Sparrow in exchange for a pardon. Even the Governor himself had been arrested for his complacency for piratical acts in his jurisdiction.

Elizabeth had felt an ache in her chest at the mention of her former fiancé, and a fearful dread for the fate of her father, but it was _nothing_ compared to the howling anxiety that gripped her for Jack.

What dangerous game was that infuriating man playing now?

An adventure too perilous to bring her along? Something he himself didn’t reckon he would return from?

_She would kill him._

She knew she had to go to Port Royal.

 


	2. Port Royal Ho

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Now with the airing of the show “Black Sails” everyone knows Jack Rackham and Anne Bonny, but these here are not those there. lol. They were historical figures, and I imagine them as a little bit different. :)

# Chapter 2: Port Royal Ho

 

Jack Rackham and Anne Bonny agreed to take her to Jamaica in the Ranger as close as they dared, and Lizzy made the rest of the way in a launch fitted with a mast. Jack only grumbled about it a little—when his red-headed fury for a lover fixed him with a look that promised heaven if he complied and _hell_ if he didn’t, he quickly set about thinking of a way to convince the crew in a vote to sail _into_ the storm that would be Jamaican waters under this new regime.

It was strange to return home after so long, but Elizabeth knew the back alleys of Port Royal by heart, even on a moonless night. She had been told that Beckett now resided in the Governor’s mansion, and so she made her way to her childhood abode, sneaking in through a window like when she was a teenager, out meeting William for a midnight rendezvous. The guards were either arrogant or lazy; security was lax.

The house was asleep. Silently she padded to Beckett’s office, once her father’s study, and she rifled through his papers hoping to find something of interest pertaining to Jack or Beckett’s designs. What she found was a valuable sheaf of papers in a leather folio bearing the Royal signature: Letters of Marque, with a blank line awaiting the name of a recipient. Unfortunately it seemed they required Lord Beckett’s signature.

As Elizabeth climbed the stairs she realized she was looking forward to this confrontation a bit _too_ much.

She woke Beckett with a hand over his mouth and her pistol pointed between his eyes. When she was certain he got the message, she backed away, her flintlock never wavering. “Why, Miss Elizabeth Swann,” said Cutler quietly, sitting up in his bedclothes. “We meet at last. I recognize you from your portrait in the drawing room.” Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, to which Beckett went on, “Though your _attire_ has significantly changed.”

She wore all black men’s clothing, boots, breeches, shirt and coat, as well as a scarf that hid her shining golden hair.

Elizabeth held up the Letters. “It’s Mrs. Sparrow now, actually. Sign these.”

Beckett sighed. “Your skills in polite conversation have deteriorated, I see. No doubt the fault of the company you keep.”

“I have grown accustomed to let my husband carry on the light conversation. I just look menacing in the background.”

“That I do believe. And how is dear Jack?” Beckett slowly got out of bed and walked to a writing desk across the room, careful not to make any sudden movements. He didn’t fancy re-painting the wall with pieces of his head, and this woman looked as though she would pull the trigger with the slightest provocation.

“He’s not here. Keep your hands where I can see them,” she reminded him. Beckett nodded agreeable, moving slowly as he dipped his quill in ink.

“Are these for your husband, then?” he asked. “Or you? I have warrants for both of your arrests, you know.”

Ignoring him, Elizabeth asked instead, “Where is my father?”

“In gaol, where he belongs. It’s a disgrace, you know. The King is _very_ upset that Weatherby kept such leniency for pirates. Letting them run _so_ free that his _own_ daughter was whisked away by one. We heard about your escapade all the way in London.”

Elizabeth huffed. “My father had nothing to do with my departure, I assure you. He is _quite_ innocent.”

“Indeed? Would you care to testify at his trial next week? Without any witnesses I have a feeling dear Weatherby’s in for a short drop wearing a hemp necklace.”

“I’m sure you made certain no character witnesses were available to testify, _Lord_ Beckett.”

He laughed a little, inexplicably seeming to be enjoying himself, even with a gun to his head. “It’s how the future is written, Miss— _Mrs_. Sparrow. People want progress and prosperity, you know, and I am here to give it to them.”

Elizabeth’s heart fell to her stomach, though her expression remained cold. “You mean by monopolizing all the trade routes, and taxing every good you can reach with your stamp? Just wait and see how long people put up with that, Lord Beckett. You might find the people of Jamaica have been away from home long enough to forget why they even need a King.” Beckett sprinkled the document, so that the ink would dry.

“Said like a true pirate. You think you could lead your people to liberty here? I hate to tell you, Elizabeth, that even if people _think_ they like freedom, they _hate_ pirates.”

He extended the folio to her, and she took it quickly, tucking it into the back of her pants.

“I’m no liberator of the people. I only care about me and mine,” she assured him.

“When you give those to Jack, _do_ mention that I will be needing his compass in return. I’ll hunt him down for it, one way or the other.”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at Beckett. What the _devil_ did he want with the compass? She had learned in her time sailing with Jack that it did not actually point to the Isle de Muerte, but to _the thing you want most_. “We’ll see who hunts who, m’lord.” With that she hit him with the butt of her pistol, rendering him unconscious. In no time she gagged him with a sash and bound his hands and feet. She’d become _quite_ proficient with knots in her year at sea.

She escaped King’s House and hit the streets once more. There was much new construction and growth, but some things it seemed would never change. The dog carrying around the keys to the jail cells being one of them. She and Rufus established a rapport over a scrap, and the loveable mutt gave up the goods for what seemed like a song.

When she beheld her father curled up like a lump of rags in the corner of his cell Elizabeth could have _murdered_ Beckett in cold blood. A nasty bruise shadowed the side of his face. Weatherby woke to the sound of the key turning in the lock. At first he cringed back at the sight of the tall figure clad in all black, thinking Mercer had come to finish the job under the cover of night. But when Elizabeth pulled aside her scarf to reveal her face Weatherby could have _wept_ for the sight of her.

“Elizabeth!” he gripped her in his arms for so long that she had to wriggle free. “Shhh. _Later_ , Father,” she urged him. “We have to go.” Weatherby blinked back tears, but did not release his grip upon her as she led him to freedom, as though he feared she might vanish into a wisp of smoke.

Funny, how the men she loved most in her life clung to her as though she might run away at any moment. She reckoned there was something significant in that, but she didn’t have the energy to ponder it.

By some grace of fate they made it to Elizabeth’s small boat without incident. On a black sea the pair set out to the rendez-vous point where Rackham had agreed to pick her up. If they did not make it in time, they would be left behind, and Elizabeth did not relish the idea of trying for Tortuga in the smaller boat. Any rough seas and they would be done for.

Tortuga would be the next best place to look for news of Jack.

“You worried me _sick,”_ said Weatherby when finally it was safe to speak.

“I left you a letter,” she said, offering a half smile that to Weatherby’s eyes resembled that of the pirate who had taken her _far_ too much for his liking.

“A bloody letter!” Elizabeth bit her lip, stifling laughter. Her father _never_ cursed. But he looked older, frailer, and she hoped it was because of Beckett, and not her own disappearance.

“I’m happy, Daddy,” she told him, _willing_ him to understand. “At least I was, until Beckett arrived.”

“Where _is_ that blackguard, your abductor?” the older man huffed, though she saw him soften a little. She hadn’t called him _Daddy_ since she was a little girl. “He surely didn’t leave you alone!”

“He left me in a very safe place, actually,” she explained with a small laugh. “Naturally, I couldn’t stay put for long. I have to find him.”

Weatherby sighed, leaning back against the mast. “You’re _really_ happy, Elizabeth?”

“Very.”

“He’s good to you?”

“Quite.”

“Did he actually _marry_ you?”

Elizabeth smiled brightly, flashing her golden skull and bones ring, steely diamonds set in the eyes. Weatherby shook his head with disbelief. He’d imagined so many things befalling his daughter, but he realized he never really believed Jack Sparrow would _marry_ her, no matter _what_ that letter had said.

“I love him. And he loves me.”

She found that as she said the last part, she didn’t doubt it anymore. Jack was out there, and she would find him, and everything would be right again. It _had_ to be.

Weatherby sighed, and despite himself a small smile pulled at his thin lips. It felt quite alien—he couldn’t _remember_ the last time he’d smiled.

As the sun rose father and daughter beheld the svelte lines of the Ranger pulling in to the cove where they’d anchored for the night. She was a sleek vessel, light in the draft and hard to beat for speed. They would be in Tortuga in two days. Elizabeth hailed the ship with a wave, and a familiar vermillion haired lass waved back from the quarter deck. “Who is that?” asked Weatherby. In his exhaustion he hadn’t even _asked_ Elizabeth her plan. She seemed so sure of herself, he just went along.

“ _That_ is my good friend Anne Bonny,” said Elizabeth with a pleased smile. “Aboard her ship, _The Ranger._ ”

Weatherby visibly paled. “Isn’t that _Charles Vane’s_ ship?”

“Not anymore,” said Elizabeth lightly, taking up the oars. “Jack Rackham stole it from him.”

“Ah. Of course.”

The former governor of Jamaica was received with surprising cordiality aboard the pirate vessel, Jack Rackham greeting the older man with a gallant bow. “Good day sir, and welcome aboard the Ranger!” Clearly he was pleased by the irony of the situation. Rackham delighted in a good joke at the expense of his “betters”.

Elizabeth put her arm around her father’s shoulders. “You’re a fugitive from justice now, Father. We’ll make a proper pirate of you yet!”

As she, Anne, and Jack shared a laugh, poor Weatherby looked like he just might _faint_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I HAD to save Weatherby this round! Lol. I was SOO sad they killed him! Eternal Daddy’s girl here… lol  
> Thank you for your comments!! They truly make my day! :D


	3. Yo Ho

# Chapter 3: Yo Ho

 

Jack nursed a bottle of rum, and couldn’t help but think how _empty_ his cabin felt now, in Elizabeth’s absence.

He saw her in all things. In her elegant handwriting on his charts. In the long golden hairs that somehow seemed to wrap themselves around _everything_ in their quarters. In a chink out of his desk where she’d playfully stabbed it with a knife. In the French lace curtains on the windows, and the smell of her skin that lingered in the sheets, and the flowers in the window…

There were bloody flowers in his window! _Flowers_ , of all things to have on board a pirate ship. Somedays he would sail a certain direction _just_ so the swiving orchids could get a good dose of sun….and he did it with a smile. It made Jack inexplicably _happy_ to do such things for _her_.

His _wife._

Even after almost a year, he _still_ could hardly believe it all wasn’t a dream. A long, elaborate dream, the sweetest he’d ever had.

Usually.

Elizabeth had her faults, and there was nothing like living in close quarters to _really_ get to know someone _too_ well.

She never _ever_ said she was sorry when she  “ _knew_ ” she was right.

When they fought it was like the second coming aboard the ship, and _everyone_ steered clear of the both of them until the squall blew over.

Yet despite her fabulous temper, he had yet to discover the limit to her love, or her bravery.

She never complained when rations on board became sparse.

When they did have luxuries, things she grew up with without a thought, she relished them all the more because they were hard won.

She never questioned his orders in front of the men, though later in their cabin was another world entirely.

She could fight like a demon from Hell.

She made love like a goddess borne of sea-foam.

Life with Elizabeth was long stretches of heaven with the occasional descent into hell. There really was no in between.

_You’ll see her again soon, mate._

That was what he kept telling himself.

Jack peeked under the bandage on his palm. The skin was still blackened, like a bruise in the center of his hand.

_Bugger._

There was just a little matter with ol’ Fishface he had to settle first…

 

XXX

 

The brawl in the Faithful Bryde left Elizabeth feeling newly invigorated, like lightning crackled through her veins. Nothing made her feel _so_ alive as someone trying to kill her, apparently.

Her father sensed the change in his daughter, saw it in the gleam in her eye and the small smile that pulled at the corner of her mouth. “You really _do_ enjoy this, don’t you?” he marveled, cringing as he stepped over a pile of unmentionable refuse.

“ _Yo ho, A pirate’s life for me_ …” she said in a singsong voice, a skip in her step. She could see the spars of the Pearl up ahead, her unmistakable lines looming over the small buildings of the pirate harbor. And that meant another thing would surely be close by.

_Jack._

Her heart swelled with anticipation, and it took everything not to sprint for the quay.

He was alive. He was just ahead. Relief washed over her, making her legs weak.

And yet, when her eyes finally settled upon him, that swaying walk so filled with swagger, listing slightly to port as he leaned in to relay some instruction to Gibbs, a flare of her legendary temper overshadowed her relief. “So the Pearl is taking on extra hands, Captain Sparrow?” she called out over the din of the harbor. “Perhaps you should take better care not to leave your shipmates behind in port?”

Jack froze at hearing _her_ voice, his back gone ramrod straight.

When finally he gathered the courage to turn he caught a slap across the face that rocked him back on his heels.

“Oi! Bloody hell, woman! Alright, I _may_ have deserved that,” he grumbled, his expression a comical mixture of panic and relief to find his wife standing before him. Yet when he noticed her jaw clenched in that certain way that boded like the black clouds of an approaching hurricane, and her hand clenching into a fist, he held up a finger. “Now, now, love, just wait a minute...”

But she was beyond _waiting a minute_ , her vision gone _red_ with anger _._ How _dare_ he leave her alone in Nassau while he was here in Tortuga, carrying on like nothing was amiss, laughing with Gibbs and egging on his crew as though there was not a thing wrong in the world?

She swung.

Jack ducked.

Norrington took the punch full in the mouth, and fell over backwards into the drink.

Elizabeth began to chase Jack, and somehow from one of the passing crates had procured a rather large fish as a weapon, which she waved with malicious intent.

Jack ran in circles around the dock, arms waving ahead of him, jumping over crates and sidestepping barrels as he narrowly escaped being pummeled by a snapper.

The goat broke loose, and joined in the melee, attempting to head-butt Jack Sparrow with angry bleats. Chickens squawked in their cages, beating their wings and sending a cloud of feathers across the scene. The rest of the crew and Weatherby watched the drama unfold with flabbergasted expressions, mouths as agape as the dead fish Mrs. Sparrow swung at her husband.

It was mad havoc, and finally Jack had had enough.

“WAIT ONE BLOODY MINUTE!” he bellowed in the voice of a man three times his size.

Everyone froze.

Even the goat.

Before Elizabeth could regain her momentum Jack grabbed her up, bending her over his arm with a torrid kiss that rendered her utterly senseless, completely pliable, the forgotten fish dropping from her hand onto the dock. For what seemed like a good long minute nothing could be heard on the dock but the sound of lips long starved for their proper mate, and tiny plaintive moans that Elizabeth would later deny to the ground _ever_ emitted from _her._ When finally Jack drew back he said in a gentle voice meant only for Elizabeth’s ears, “All will be explained, Lizzy darlin’, if we may continue this discussion in our cabin?”

_Our cabin._

Elizabeth could have wept with relief, so many fears instantly put to rest. As her fears left her so did her strength, and she slumped against his chest, gripping the lapels of his coat so hard the fabric creaked. “Why did you leave me?” she whimpered, unable to wait for the privacy of the great cabin of the Pearl.

“Because I love you, Elizabeth Sparrow. Come on, up the gang-way you go. All will be explained.” As he tried to shepherd her with a hand upon the small of her back Weatherby Swann cleared his throat pointedly.

Elizabeth nearly forgot that she had her father in tow.

“Ah, Jack? Have we any extra accommodation for my father, perhaps? I had to make a stop in Port Royal to save him from your old friend Lord Beckett.”

Jack rolled his eyes. He tried to keep her out of the frying pan, only to have her dive head first into the fire. “Of course you did.” Jack turned to find none other than Governor—former governor?—Weatherby Swann standing upon the docks of Tortuga, perhaps looking a _bit_ disheveled and certainly shorter sans wig and heeled shoes, and appearing _quite_ stunned by the just passed proceedings.

With a rather sheepish grin Jack opened his arms wide with an exclamation of, “Dad!” that caused Weatherby’s pallor to turn utterly white.

Elizabeth covered her mouth in a poor attempt to stifle her laughter. Her poor father, dear man. What a _shock_ he was in for.

Warily Weatherby approached. Regaining his composure, he admitted, “Once upon a time I rather fantasized this meeting taking place with you behind bars, the sound of construction of the gallows in the background, and my daughter safely returned to the fold of society.”

Jack’s smile faded to a grimace. _Uh oh._

“And yet…” Weatherby sniffed, looking between the two lovers who still had not managed to separate themselves, clinging to each other like shipwreck victims upon a piece of driftwood. “I see that you make my daughter _inordinately_ happy, Captain Sparrow, and that is a thing that warms a father’s heart, no matter the circumstance.”

Weatherby offered a small smile, and Jack’s gold-glinting grin returned full force. He held out a be-ringed hand, hoping against hope that this man would accept his peace offering. After only a moment’s hesitation Weatherby took Jack’s callused hand, and some silent bargain was struck in a language only men could fathom.

Elizabeth watched this masculine exchange with amusement, and some trepidation. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Next stop, the real showdown! Jack’s not out of hot water yet… lol. Thank you kindly for your comments! They make me ever so happy!! Have a great weekend, everyone! :)


	4. A Marked Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t believe you’ve ever chased me with a fish before, darlin’. But I suppose it’s good to try new things, keeps the excitement in a marriage…”

# Chapter 4: A Marked Man

 

After that some semblance of order was restored to provisioning the Pearl. The goat was caught. Norrington was fished out of the water, and despite the foul film that covered the harbor, his smell only improved from the dip. The queue continued up the gangplank, and Jack, Elizabeth, and Weatherby joined in, climbing up to the deck of the Pearl. The moment Elizabeth’s feet touched the planks of this most hallowed vessel a long-absent feeling of peace overcame her, and she immediately fought back the urge to cry. Jack kissed her cheek and nudged her towards their cabin. “Let me see our dear Dad squared away in his accommodations, and I will join you _toute suite_ , eh Lizzy?”

She stabbed a finger in his chest, causing his posture to straighten once more like an errant school boy under his mistress’ watchful eye. “ _Don’t_ take too long,” she warned him, her patience running thin. It would be just like Jack to fritter away the time until she fell asleep to avoid their inevitable _discussion._

By the time Jack returned to the cabin he found Elizabeth wrapped up in her favorite red-silk kimono, her golden hair loose about her shoulders, pulling on a thin cigar while reading something in a leather folio. Her legs were propped up on the desk, a long expanse of bare skin exposed all the way to her hip.

She was so beautiful it _hurt._

A potent mixture of lust and love rose in Jack’s heart, colliding in the making of a perfect storm. Immediately he locked the door, starting towards her with a hungry look in his eyes.

Yet before he could lay a single finger upon that covetable bare skin she fixed him with a baleful glare that halted him in his tracks. “Start talking.”

“But darlin’…” he whined, sticking out his lower lip in an insufferably adorable pout. “I’ve _missed_ you.”

“Good. And may I remind you our separation was your own doing? So _do_ proceed to enlighten me as to your reasons for _drugging_ me with opium in Nassau and sailing off without me?”

“If you’ve already been to Port Royal I would fathom you can guess…” Jack grumbled, a little hurt by her rebuff. He wanted her in his arms so _badly_ he could hardly see straight, but she could sit so _calmly_ at their desk like a cat appraising a mouse for the kill.

He was _in_ for it, he reckoned. A proper tongue lashing would be administered before he would be allowed to offer his recompense. Of course, he was _rather good_ at offering physical recompense, and so perhaps she was wise to delay him…

A small smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth, the appearance of which only caused Elizabeth’s eyes to narrow more.

“Am I _amusing_ you, Jack Sparrow?”

Though her tone was _deadly,_ his smile only widened. He just couldn’t _help_ himself. “I missed you, my love, my _sweet_ Caribbean flower...”

“ _Spare_ me.”

The smile only widened as he knelt down beside her chair. “My dearest, most _beautiful_ Valkyrie of a wife. A force more terrible than a typhoon, more deadly than a hurricane, more magnificent than—”

“Good _grief_ , Jack!”

He watched as she softened slightly, trying not to smile as he kissed her hand with genuine reverence.

Tears brimmed in the corners of her eyes as she paid the window a sideways glance. “Well, at least you didn’t kill the orchids.”

“ _Mais non, ma cherie!_ ” he exclaimed in his most _ridiculous_ Parisian accent, something he adopted when he was being utterly silly in the privacy of their quarters. “I have guarded your poseys with my very _life._ ” He pressed a hand to his chest, bowing dramatically, and this time Elizabeth could stand it no more. She laughed, and the sound was a balm to his soul, soothing a wound upon his heart he’d self-incurred the day he left her behind in Nassau.

“ _There’s_ that smile,” he sighed. “Don’t believe you’ve ever chased me with a fish before, darlin’. But I suppose it’s good to try new things, keeps the excitement in a marriage…”

“Jack…” she sighed, sounding suddenly _very_ tired. “What the _devil_ is going on?”

“What do you know?” he asked cautiously.

“Bloody _nothing_!” she exclaimed, holding up the leather folio. Jack was surprised to see they were Letters of Marque! Bearing Cutler Beckett’s signature, no less.

“How did you get _those_!” he exclaimed, worry and something darker coloring his words.

Elizabeth laughed, enjoying his discomfort _just a little._ “ _Persuasion,_ my dear Captain.”

“What _kind_ of persuasion, love?” he demanded, his voice deceptively calm.

“Why, I broke into King’s House in the dead of night, rousted Lord Beckett from his bed with a gun to his head, and after he signed _these_ I knocked him senseless and trussed him like a Christmas goose. He’s _very_ interested in your compass. Why is that?”

Suddenly agitated, Jack leapt to his feet, pacing the cabin like a caged tiger. He tossed his hat and coat towards a chair as he passed, missing entirely. She would nag him to pick them up later, no doubt. “Not good,” he grumbled under his breath. He actually already knew Beckett desired the compass, via the whelp who had found him not so long ago, and Jack had happily sent him along to the Flying Dutchman. Something _else_ he would not soon volunteer to Will’s ex-fiance turned _his_ wife. “How did you even _get_ to Port Royal?” he next exclaimed, hoping to divert her line of questioning.

“On the Ranger. Anne and Jack dropped me off.”

Jack grumbled under his breath about traitors and circles of hell. He’d made Rackham _swear_ he would not aid Elizabeth in getting any closer to the fray! He supposed that fiery Irish lass was to blame for changing his mind. She could be rather terrifying…most red headed women were. “Should have bludgeoned Beckett to death when you had the chance,” he snarled, and it was a thing so unlike Jack, a man who avoided real violence whenever he could, that Elizabeth paused, a thrill of real fear trickling down her spine.

When next he turned to continue his circuit he nearly collided with Elizabeth. She held him by the shoulders, willing him to _sit still_ and finally shed some light on this _unbearable_ mystery. “Jack. Tell. Me. What. Is. Going. On.”

Her pirate captain sighed, bumping her forehead with his. “You have to know that this all happened _long_ before I ever met you. I never _ever_ thought I would—that I _could_ …” There was an _agonizing_ pause, and he cupped the sides of her face with his hands, kissing her nose.

“You could _what_ , Jack?” she asked, allowing him to lead her back to the carved wood chair. He sat, drawing her into his lap. She only squirmed _a little_ when his strong hand smoothed up the expanse of her long thigh, pulling her closer. She snuggled into the bend of his neck, perfectly folded into him, as though their bodies had been _made_ to fit this way by some cosmic design. She’d always found it hard to believe in a higher power, much less a benevolent one, until the miracle that was Jack Sparrow entered her life. She found herself clutching him closer, that unfamiliar fear playing up her spine once more.

“I never thought that someday I would love someone more than myself,” he whispered into her hair, kissing her temple. “Never thought myself capable. Never thought a woman like you _existed_ , much less would I be so lucky to call you my wife.” He lifted his hand, the one with the bandage wrapped around it. Taking his cue, she tugged at the bandage, to reveal a rather malevolent looking bruise underneath. That feeling of sick fear assaulted her once more, and she found that made her _angry._ That something would intrude on the paradise that had been their life together.

“Is that… _the black spot_?”

“The very one.”

“I thought that was just…for Heaven’s sakes. Of course it’s not just a fairytale. None of it ever is.”

“You know what it means?”

“That you’re a marked man…” she sighed, her voice a barely audible whisper.

“That’s right. I’m trying my best to fix things, Lizzy, but if something _does_ happen to me—”

“Don’t _say_ that!” she snarled.

Jack, however, went on, “If something does happen to me you take the men and fetch that chest we buried off Curaçao. You take the gold, and go to Savanna. You remember my friend Black Tom, hmm? He’ll help set you up in a new life. It’s the least he can do for me.”

The very _thought_ of living without Jack turned Elizabeth’s stomach. She began to shake with fear and anger. That he would ever consider it! Jack watched all this play out on Lizzy’s features with a sad little smile. How _young_ she was, he reminded himself. She had yet to taste true defeat in her life, and it was a dish he’d sampled more than a few times before meeting her.

He’d spent his life running between the rain drops, but he knew it was very possible he wouldn’t make it out of this one. It was a shame, because now more than ever, he truly _wanted_ to live.

“There’s no life for me without you, Jack,” she stated stubbornly, clutching him to her.

Jack decided not to argue. It would just waste what little time they had.

“Who is after you, Jack? Beckett? How…”

In a level tone that barely hinted at the true horror of the tale, Jack finally recounted a harrowing story of a naïve young sea captain who sailed for the East India Trading Company, his refusal to deal in human flesh, and the price Lord Cutler Beckett exacted for it. He told of a brand, a ship burned down to the water-line with him upon it, a deal with the devil and the Wicked Wench’s resurrection as the Black Pearl by the power of the Captain of the Flying Dutchman, Davy Jones. Now Jones required his pound of flesh, his years before the mast, and his sea-beasty the Kraken could set upon them at any moment to collect.

“You should have told me,” Elizabeth murmured against his neck, one hand pressed over his P brand as though she could will away the pain of the memory by force of her love alone.

“It wasn’t your burden to bear, love.”

“I am you _wife,”_ she insisted. “Your burdens are _mine._ Your debts, _mine._ Your dangers, _mine._ I made a vow on the very deck of this ship to always stand by you, and by God I meant it, Jack Sparrow. _Promise_ me you won’t put me out of harm’s way again?”

“Lizzy…”

She grasped a great handful of his hair, rather mercilessly pulling him down into a soul-searing lock of lips. He felt himself melting beneath her, his body and soul so weary after the long journey he’d taken _without_ her. He wanted nothing more than to carry her to the berth and forget all about Davy Jones and Beckett, even if just for the span of the night. “ _Promise me_ ,” she demanded again.

Elizabeth did not notice as Jack crossed his fingers behind his back, murmuring, “ _I promise_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments, dear readers!! They make my day so bright! :)


	5. On Botany and Natural Philosophy

# Chapter 5: On Botany and Natural Philosophy

In the late morning Elizabeth finally emerged from their cabin, a lazy satiated smile upon her lips. She stretched and looked out, enchanted to find the glittering sea before them. She ran a loving hand over the blackened gunwale, caressing the ship as though she were a living breathing thing.

_Home._

This all felt like home.

Jack watched her from his place behind the helm, a warmth in his eyes that could kindle fires. As though she could feel it upon her skin, Lizzy turned to meet his gaze. After the night previous one would think the happy couple quite slaked, but just by the look in those gleaming black orbs she could tell a little rendezvous in his cabin later might be in order.

Happy gooseflesh erupted over her skin at the thought.

Their looks did not escape the crew, who knew very well what they meant. Despite being regaled by the noise throughout the night ( _Mrs. Captain had a rather piercing scream at times)_ they knew the Captain would be in an _exceptionally_ good mood the next day, and maybe even dole out an extra ration of rum, so they didn’t mind.

Lizzy thought back on the night before, and how quickly she could go from wanting to throttle her husband to… _well_.

_Jack had carried her to their bed, his full lips upon hers, melting her inside._

_In a moment of weakness she clutched him closer, her chest tight as she remembered the anguish she’d lived with up until about two seconds ago. Her voice came rough as she admitted, “I was so afraid you didn’t love me anymore.”_

_Jack paused, a frown darkening his handsome features. “Plenty of things to doubt in this world, love, but never doubt that. Please never doubt that.” He kissed her again, intent on proving his love with the coaxing rhythm of his full lips and clever tongue alone, and she was grateful that he held her, knowing her legs would have buckled otherwise._

_“Now then.” He set her down upon their bunk, her weight sinking into the goose down mattress they had stolen from an English merchant ship not so long ago. “I believe I have some lost time to make up for, eh Lizzy?”_

_He knelt before her, thinking this was the only altar he could ever pay true reverence to. Jack tugged the knotted belt at her waist, the silk giving way to his conjurer’s fingers. He parted the kimono to reveal the coveted flesh that lay beneath, her long torso and small pert breasts._

**_Too small_ ** _, she’d insisted in the beginning, no doubt thinking of all the busty doxies he’d known in his long life._

**_Perfect,_ ** _he’d set out to convince her, and in time after many nights of his enthusiastic ministrations, she began to believe him. He continued his mission now, taking one into his mouth, that dexterous tongue flicking back and forth over her nipple in a way that soaked her through. She sighed with longing, her long fingers sliding into his hair at the base of his skull._

_Jack Sparrow’s mouth was often a source of great amusement for Elizabeth. He explored the world through language and taste. Watching him chart a course could be like watching a toddler at times, everything from the quill to navigational instruments to his fingernails finding their way into his mouth as he concentrated. It was a proclivity her captain brought to their bed as well, and she had quickly learned to adore Jack Sparrow’s oral fixation._

_As Jack’s hands explored her ribcage he could tell she’d lost some weight in his absence. Guilt mixed with the medley of other emotions that threatened to burst his heart as he drew back to gaze upon his wife._

_No matter, he told himself. He would just have to fatten her up a little. Maybe…_

_No, Jack Sparrow. Putting a babe in her belly when you might die tomorrow was a selfish idea to entertain. He didn’t even know where the impulse came from? Children? They were pirates, not farmers, for Christ’s sake._

_The hunger upon his visage was palpable, and Elizabeth felt her womb grow tight for all the promise in that heated gaze. Now, she knew all too well what that look meant._

_“I know you favor the orchids, me Lizzy girl,” said Jack, parting her thighs slowly. “But I myself? This is **my** favorite flower.” His thumb stroked her folds lightly, winning a soft cry, her head thrown back between her shoulders. He loved to inflict this sweet torture upon her. _

_She loved it too, even if she felt like she might die up to the very end._

_“Petals of such a delicate pink,” he mused, inspecting her with a tilted head and salacious smile. “And the nectar? Oh, the sweetest in the land.” He bent to press the most gentle kiss there, his tongue lazily lapping her most intimate area, and Lizzy whimpered with wanting, her desire throbbing in her veins._

_“Only you could make botany obscene,” she muttered, trying not to smile._

_“Obscene?” exclaimed Jack with mock injury. “No, no, my love. This is natural philosophy. This is…sacred anatomy.”_

_He bent his head to her again, his lips and tongue making magic between her thighs, and any reply she might have made was lost to her moans and the clamor of pleasure Jack evoked in her body. But soon she begged Jack to be inside her. She **needed** him, needed his body joined with hers. This need went so much deeper than mere physical pleasure. She felt this pain in her **soul** , an emptiness begging to be filled, to be whole, and only love making with Jack could soothe her. Only when he finally took mercy and slid inside her did she feel complete. _

_Elizabeth’s desire took hold of her; it was ironic in a way that a woman as strong as her just wanted to be conquered sometimes by the man she loved. Pillaged, razed, and to be made anew, the way only Jack could do for her. Her movements became more urgent against him, knowing exactly how to use her body to bring them both to that shining peak, in the practiced dance only repeat lovers can master._

_Jack, however, wasn’t ready just yet. He pinned her hands above her head, taking control. “Not yet, love. I want this to last,” he panted, moving torturously slow within her. Their eyes met, and their eye contact in such an intimate position succeeded in sending something like lightning jetting down her spine._

_God, how she loved him. **Wanted** him. All of him. Everything. **Now.** She couldn’t fathom how he could wait._

_She gave a frustrated little snarl, winning a smile from her lover above her._

_“Infuriating man.”_

_His smile did not falter, and it was not his usual sultry smirk. It was filled with a knowing tenderness, such raw love shining in his ebony eyes._

_In that moment, Elizabeth saw it all._

_She understood, the way she always understood him. No one but her had ever been so adept at seeing through his song and dance, his smoke and mirrors, right to the heart of what he was really about. It was one of the reasons why he loved her. Why he_ **needed** _her. She knew him better than he knew himself._

 _“Oh no you don’t,” she said raggedly, shaking her head. “This is_ **not** _the last time we will know each other, Jack Sparrow. This is_ **not** _goodbye.”_

_Jack sighed, knowing he’d been caught again, and buried his face in the bend of her neck. The captain inhaled deeply, savoring the smell of her, sweat and skin and a hint of jasmine. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, Lizzy,” he admitted in a moment of bare honesty. “I’m so sorry, love. I just don’t know.”_

_Elizabeth’s anger evaporated as she realized this was Jack making good on his promise to share his burdens with her. It was a thing that did not come easily to Jack Sparrow. Usually he was so nonchalant, so seemingly in control, no matter what mayhem was going on around them. It was part of being a good captain, she supposed, always giving off confidence for his men, and also just his natural manner of existence, truth be told. And so Elizabeth rewarded his honesty by pulling him closer with her arms and her thighs, encircling her husband with her warmth._

_She didn’t say paltry pleasantries like_ everything will be just fine _or_ don’t worry, you’re Captain Jack Sparrow. _Instead she pressed kisses to his cheeks and neck, promising fiercely, “No matter what happens, Jack, we’ll find a way. No matter what, I’m here with you.”_

_That seemed to be what he needed to hear, and she could say no more for Jack’s mouth slanted over hers, and his body claimed her the way only he could. He brought her to a slow but inevitable finish that crashed over her like storm-charged waves, pleasure that kept coming with every thrust, her cries ringing out through the entire ship. Jack followed close behind her, spilling himself upon her belly with a shaking groan. They lay in a tangle of limbs for what could have been hours, unable to move, clinging to each other like the last sane thing in this world._

As far as Elizabeth was concerned, Jack _was_ the last sane thing in this world.

He was her alpha and omega, her salvation and damnation. He was everything in this life that truly mattered. His life mattered to her more than her own, which was a thing that scared the _bejeezus_ out of the captain. She’d proved it once not long after they’d taken their vows, foolishly stepping in front of a Portuguese bullet that was meant for him during a raid. It had stopped in her shoulder, and despite the fact that otherwise it would have found its mark in his chest, he’d cursed her for a fool with tears in his eyes as she bled in his arms, and made her promise never to do it again.

She’d promised half-heartedly, and Jack knew she didn’t mean it. He was a veritable connoisseur of false promises, and so he knew very well when he heard one.

Elizabeth scaled the companionway, and went to wrap her arms around Jack’s waist from behind, her long body fitted to his perfectly as a glove. A certain relief washed over him at having her near, his body relaxing in her arms, and yet he wished like _hell_ that they’d managed to pack up the Pearl just a _mite_ sooner and leave his bride safely behind in Tortuga.

He had a bad feeling about what lay ahead for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you think Jack has an oral fixation? He's always putting things in his mouth!! lol
> 
> Thank you so much for your comments, everyone! They really make my day! :)


	6. Promises to Break, Vows to Keep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Before we start, I just want to say please know I intend to write a part III in this series…letting you know just so you all don’t kill me. ;)

# Chapter 6: Promises to Break, Vows to Keep

For approximately ten minutes after arriving at the Isle las Cruces luck smiled upon them.

Jack, Elizabeth, and Norrington made their way to the beach, followed the compass, and dug up the eerie chest of Davy Jones.

Then **_everything_** went to Hell.

Jones’ crew and the whelp arrived with impeccable timing, and Norrington decided to try for the heart too. At the end of the melee that involved swords, pistols, and a giant dislodged watermill rolling down the beach, someone ended up with the heart.

Not Jack.

Of which he discovered after taunting Jones, and breaking his hallowed Jar of Dirt upon the decks of the Pearl.

He knew it was a sign of doom. He knew it even before the Kraken started plucking crew members from the decks like they were fruit on a tree.

Now, the powder was gone, and all the hope gone with it.

Elizabeth stood steadfast at his side through it all, sword in hand. He knew she was scared, but he admired the way she lifted that sharp chin to the world, daring their adversaries to do their worst.

But there was a lesson she had yet to learn in her callow youth, brave lass that she was.

Sometimes, you lose _everything_.

Jack had made her a pledge the night before, but life was not a series of straight lines. It was a maddening path of tributaries and side-roads. Sometimes, a man had to weigh the promises he’d made, and decide which ones were worth keeping.

Jack knew he wasn’t a good man. He’d broken more promises than he had fingers and toes. More promises than he had hairs on his head. But there was _one_ he intended to keep. _One_ he would not compromise, even if she hated him for it in the end.

As Gibbs oversaw the loading of the remaining crew into the longboat, Jack decided he would honor the vow he’d made upon this very deck, not but a year ago, with Elizabeth at his side. On that happy day, which seemed like a lifetime ago now, he’d sworn to always protect her.

_Whether she liked it or not._

Elizabeth looked up to him, her eyes too wide, as the ship groaned beneath them. The Kraken would return, they knew. It was just a matter of _when._ He read the question in her eyes without needing a word. Would he retreat to the longboats, or stay with the ship? Either way, she would remain with him.

That too, he knew without a word.

Brave girl. _Too_ brave for her own good.

When Jack held out his arms to her she filled them immediately, giving in to the need for a comforting embrace. “ _We tried_ , _Jack,_ ” she whispered, and a rueful smile curled his lips. He kissed her hair and said nothing, savoring this moment of her in his arms.

Would he remember it, he wondered, in the Locker? Would he be allowed the memory of her soft skin? Of the way her rum-colored eyes shone in the sunlight? Her kisses and the cadence of her unbridled laughter?

When she tilted back her head in silent request Jack’s lips met hers, gentle, then _hungry_.

_One last taste, just one last…_

He did not know how long they kissed upon the deck of the Pearl. How many times had they exchanged locks of lips upon this revered ship, and other lovers’ favors? It was hardly fathomable that this could be the last, but he sought to savor this sweet embrace to the very end. He felt Elizabeth go pliable in his arms, rendered soft as clay by his mouth and his hands in her hair. That hunger to _touch_ between them had not faded, as he’d feared it might in close quarters over time.

Perhaps their love could have lasted, could it only have been given the chance?

He would never know.

Jack pressed Elizabeth against the main mast, and she moaned for the weight of his body pressed against hers. She gave no protest when he took control of her hands, placing them behind her back.

She trusted him.

It was a thing at which Jack Sparrow never ceased to marvel.

She trusted him to the very moment she heard a _click_ and felt the press of manacles about her wrists.

“Jack?”

He knew she would never get into the long boat without him, and so he devised to make her by whatever means necessary.

“I never deserved you, Lizzy,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead, bracing himself for the onslaught.

Her brow creased in a frown. “Jack? _No_ , what—”

Before she could react he unhooked her manacles from the mast, dragging her towards the gunwale. The whelp waited to receive her, Jack’s agent in this deception.

“ **JACK**?!”

A second later, she understood.

“NO!” she bellowed, attempting to twist free. “No you _don’t_ , Jack Sparrow!”

Jack ignored her. “Go to Tia Dalma,” he instructed. “She might…there could be a way.”

Elizabeth ignored him. “I will **_not_** leave you!”

“Ye can’t go where I’m going, darlin’.”

Jack was headed for the Locker. Jones would see to that. But he feared Elizabeth would simply _die._ That he couldn’t abide.

She tried to make herself dead weight, but Jack hauled her off her feet with an arm about her waist. In physical strength and size, she could not fight him, and she knew it.

_Damnable man!_

“Jack…please don’t. I want to stay with you. I have to stay with you!”

“ ‘Fraid ye haven’t a choice in the matter, love. You’re getting in that boat.”

“No!” she snarled with frustration, kicking her feet. She nearly managed to twist away, but in another moment Will was there too, hefting her over his shoulder. Jack and the whelp shared a moment of charged eye-contact in which _so much_ was left unsaid. _Anger_ , that Jack had stolen her, and tricked him, and endangered them all. _Surprise_ , that the pirate would relinquish her once more in this selfless act.

Then Elizabeth attempted to kick Will, and the moment was broken.

Jack was surprised to feel his lips curl into a smile, albeit a small one, in a silent bid of _good luck._

Jack produced the keys to the shackles, handing them to Gibbs. “Ye might wait to use these until she’s calmed down a bit, eh?”

Gibbs grimaced, clearly intimidated by the thought of releasing the harpy from her irons.

Elizabeth continued to scream and struggle, but somehow Will climbed down into the long boat without losing his balance or dropping her.

Jack watched them row out, Elizabeth’s shrieks of protest echoing across the water.

Only after they had made it a ways from the ship did Elizabeth look up to see Jack standing at the gunwale, watching them go. She reached for him with her shackled hands, having already looped her arms beneath her feet in a feat of flexibility that would have spurred Jack’s imagination in a different scenario. Jack saluted her with a wave of be-ringed fingers, grateful she could not see the tears stinging his eyes at that distance.

“See you on the other side, love.” He blew her a kiss, and heard her moan his name in reply.

Unable to watch any longer, he turned away. An eerie calm had come over the ship, and he had a feeling something very _nasty_ waited behind him…

 

**XXX**

 

Elizabeth had never known such despair, as she watched the tentacles of the Kraken embrace the spars of the Black Pearl, pulling the great ship asunder.

_Jack…_

Her voice had gone with her screams, and now all that remained was a raspy suggestion of sound. Her body shook, her cheeks soaked with tears that poured forth as a waterfall of sorrow. She rocked back and forth, her fists clenched upon her knees.

_Jack._

Still, she could not stop chanting his name with her broken voice, as she watched her Captain go down with his ship.

_Jack._

Who could dare argue with her now, that he was a good man? No one present. She felt far too wretched to gloat, that place in her chest where once a heart had been turned barren and black as the ship being pulled down to the depths.

_Jack._

The crew of the Pearl drifted in their lifeboat, no longer pulling for shore, all aboard watching the place where the Pearl had been with silent mourning. They bobbed in the waves for what might have been minutes or hours, cloaked in an oppressive silence. The world without Captain Jack Sparrow seemed a bleak place indeed.

At some point the men began to row again.

Elizabeth huddled in on herself, lost in her misery, unaware of the time as the sun slowly sank in the sky.

Amidst the clamor in her mind, the sorrow and regrets, the anger that he would leave her behind, the _should haves_ and _what ifs_ and all the things she wished she could have said to Jack, his voice cut through the mental din. _Go to Tia Dalma. There might be a way._ Elizabeth suddenly recalled Jack’s words, and there was a single glimmer of hope in this darkest of days.

Could there _possibly_ be a way to bring him back?

She suddenly straightened in her seat, a new resolve glinting in her gaze. Everyone in the boat seemed to notice it, unconsciously leaning away a little, as though afraid she would exact her revenge on them all for ripping her from her beloved husband’s side. But calmly she extended her shackled wrists to their respected First Mate.

“Mr. Gibbs, if you would be so kind? I believe we have an _unyielding_ need to go upriver.” She hardly recognized her own voice, and yet somehow it came steady from her throat so razed by grief.

Gibbs took a moment to regard her with caution, but in the end he responded to her steadfast tone by withdrawing the keys from his breast pocket.

She would have Jack back, she resolved. There was no sea she would not sail, no stone she would leave unturned, no beastie she would not face, no law she would not defy, _no throat she would not_ _cut_ , to have Jack back in this world.

Back in her _arms_.

 _Hold on, Jack,_ she entreated him, praying that somehow, maybe, he could hear. _I’m coming for you._

 

**To be continued in Part III: The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea…**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Aaaand I might go cry over Jack a bit more now…Thank you everyone for reading, favouriting, following, and of course, your lovely comments!! They put such a skip in this writer’s step! For more Sparrabeth fun come find me on Tumblr as apirateslifeforme123 !

**Author's Note:**

> Dear readers, I thank you kindly for your comments! They make writing these fics SO much more fun!! :)


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